


A Spoonful of Sugar

by kerravon



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 11:11:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1345318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerravon/pseuds/kerravon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by an Avengerkink prompt: http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/18271.html?thread=42235743#t42235743</p><p>The Avengers are coming together as a group and Tony finds himself unexpectedly trusting these teammates of his, even though he's only known them a short while. Hey, they save the world together on a regular basis, right?  And if you can't trust Captain America, who can you trust?</p><p>Turns out, he may be premature...</p><p>The Avengers find themselves caring more than they expected about the prickly billionaire with a hero's heart, and only want what's best for him after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Now translated into German!  
> [German Here](https://www.fanfiktion.de/s/53e93a000003afe6ad2f9cf/1/A-Spoonful-of-Sugar)

"Honestly, I'm not sure what else we can do," Bruce said conversationally as he poured himself a cup of coffee. Most of the Avengers were gathered in the kitchen for breakfast, discussing their lone missing team member. There had been a particularly difficult battle three weeks previously that had landed Iron Man in the SHIELD infirmary for several days with a concussion, a crushed foot, several rib fractures and assorted abrasions, contusions, and pulled muscles. Since getting released however, he had been a non-stop whirlwind of activity, rarely pausing to eat or drink, never mind sleep. Bruce had encouraged him to take better care of himself while he was temporarily benched, but Stark just waved off his concerns, citing that he had too much work to do. Since Pepper stayed on the West Coast to better manage Stark Industries when Tony moved to New York, they couldn't rely on her to make him take care of himself.

 

Meanwhile, the billionaire was looking more exhausted and bedraggled by the day, and the entire team had noticed. They just didn't know what to do about it.

 

"I could shoot him with a tranq dart," volunteered Clint around a mouthful of scrambled eggs. "The ventilation system gets narrow down there, but I'm pretty sure I can navigate it."

 

Bruce snorted in amusement at the joke, but glancing around the breakfast bar revealed four very solemn faces. He sat down heavily, jaw agape, staring at the marksman in wide-eyed disbelief. Barton actually meant the suggestion seriously! He had to close his eyes and take several deep, calming breaths, as he was a little bit sensitive when it came to tranquilizer darts, especially given his experience with General Ross and the Other Guy.

 

Once he had regained a semblance of control, he looked up and growled disapprovingly. "You are _not_ going to sedate him against his will. He's a grown man and can make his own decisions."

 

"Even if they're dumbass ones?" retorted Clint obliviously, crunching a rasher of bacon.

 

"How can we get him to rest, then?" inquired Steve, ignoring the archer. He frowned across the table at the annoyed physicist, then studied his own plate and added, "And maybe eat a little? He hasn't come up for air for almost three days."

 

"Not much we can do," Bruce shrugged, forcing himself to calm. "Maybe take him a meal to remind him that eating is a thing humans do? I'd suggest you ask JARVIS about his favorite foods, though. He can be a surprisingly finicky eater."

 

Steve assumed a calculating expression and slowly nodded. "I'll do that. Thanks, Bruce."

 

"That still doesn't address the fact that he's running himself ragged," Natasha commented as she sipped her tea.

 

The physicist raised his eyebrows. "Maybe call Miss Potts? I'm certain that this is not new behavior."

 

The Widow nodded minutely once, eyes narrowed, then stirred her tea thoughtfully.

 

Before he could add anything further, JARVIS interrupted. "Doctor Banner, you asked to be notified when the exothermic reaction reached fifty degrees Celsius."

 

"Thank you, JARVIS," replied the scientist, gulping down the rest of his coffee. Turning a small, apologetic smile towards the rest of the team, he spread his hands meekly. "Sorry guys. Science awaits. I'm sure Tony will come to his senses sooner or later."

 

Steve waved him towards the door. "Go on. We'll figure it out later if we have to."

 

Bruce turned quickly towards the elevator, mind already focusing on the next step in the chemical synthesis project he was working on.

 

 

-A-A-A-A-A-

 

 

"Sir, Captain Rogers has returned and is requesting entrance." JARVIS' dry voice rang out over the hard rock music blaring in the workshop where Tony had been holed up almost exclusively since his release from medical.

 

"Just keep telling him 'no', J," murmured the engineer distractedly as he concentrated on his welding. The Avengers' last mission had demonstrated the need for more plating in the armor's extremities, given how easily his foot had been caught and crushed by the robot. Never let it be said that he didn't learn from his mistakes. The problem was that it was tedious, time-consuming work to dismantle the entire suit, weld in reinforcing plates, then trim everything so that his movement remained unimpeded. It had to be finished by the time he was returned to active status, and he was barely half done.

 

He sighed to himself, tiredly blinking the sweat out of his eyes. Damn, he could use a nap. Just that morning Bruce had come down to nag him about his eating and sleeping, or more specifically, the fact that he wasn't doing enough of either. While internally the engineer agreed, he'd finally made Bruce understand that Tony Stark's time was not his own. In addition to the necessary armor repairs, Fury was demanding the upgrades for the sensor array programming that were overdue, Pepper needed the analysis on the Avengers' Tower arc reactor power utilization prior to the Board Meeting Friday in order to proceed with their planned expansion, and he really needed to fix the glitch in the Starkpad search engine that occasionally allowed a bit of random porn to slip through the parental filters (and wasn't the press having a field day with that one?). They'd finally come to a grudging compromise about those issues, as well as his taking his pain meds despite the fact that they made him groggy and slow. While he was still healing, he would take at least one every six to eight hours.

 

He sighed and wiped his forehead; there just weren't enough hours in the day to get everything done under normal circumstances, never mind after his brain had been clouded by narcotics. He certainly didn't have time to chitchat with a super soldier about pop culture right now.

 

JARVIS interrupted his ruminations. "He is expressing concern over your eating habits. I am asked to inform you that he has food."

 

The billionaire grimaced, still concentrating on his work. _'Right. Rogers._ ' He had almost forgotten the guest at his door. He could just imagine the 'well-balanced meal' that the Captain had probably personally cooked in some 1940's traditional fashion. Maybe over a wood stove? When he agreed to let his tower become home to the Avengers, he hadn't been aware that he was signing up for a super hero team of babysitters. _'Wouldn't Pepper be proud?'_ ', he thought sardonically.

 

"Tell him I'm not hungry!" he called out, carefully avoiding eye contact by not glancing towards the door. No way was he eating liver, broccoli, or any other 'health food'.

 

"Sir. Captain Rogers wishes you to know that your cheeseburger and fries are getting cold." JARVIS sounded almost smug.

 

The genius straightened abruptly, flicking off the arc welder in the process. "Burger?" he clarified in astonishment, raising the faceplate on his safety mask before taking it off entirely. Tugging off his welding gloves next, he ran a subtly shaking hand through sweat soaked hair and spared a glance towards the door and the patiently waiting Captain.

 

"And fries. Also, I am now informed, a chocolate malt that is melting."

 

The inventor grinned, pleasantly surprised. "Well, we can't have that, can we JARVIS? Let the man in." Snagging his crutches from where they leaned against the worktable, he hobbled towards a nearby chair and eased himself onto it.

 

"Hey, Tony," called Rogers as the door slid open and he strode into the workshop. "I've got food." He held aloft a bag from one of the inventor's favorite local burger joints and Tony's stomach growled unexpectedly.

 

Stark flashed him a tired but grateful smile. "Thanks, Steve. I didn't realize how hungry I was until JARVIS mentioned 'cheeseburger'. Just set it down here." He pointed to the tabletop next to the computer terminal he was booting up. Might as well get some time in on Fury's programming updates while he ate.

 

Steve set down the sack with a Styrofoam cup next to it. "JARVIS said that you preferred chocolate malts?"

 

Tony swiveled his chair around to face the food. "You better believe it, for dessert anyway. I'd like a Coke with the food, though."

 

"Is there any in your fridge?" Steve asked, pointing to the mini-fridge at the back of the room next to Dum-E's blender. "If not, I can run upstairs real quick and get you a can."

 

"You don't have to do that. There should be some here, assuming Thor didn't drink it all when he was visiting earlier. Dum-E…" He began to call for his robot, only to have Rogers hold up a hand to stop him.

 

"Let me get it. Less mess."

 

Tony held up a finger as he began digging through the bag. "Good point. Dum-E usually only manages half a cup before spilling the rest on the floor." Unwrapping the cheeseburger, he took a huge bite, closing his eyes in bliss as his stomach rumbled again. He set down the burger, then stuck a straw in the malted and took a long pull as he began to edit the programming on his terminal one-handed. In the background he peripherally listened to Steve rummage through the fridge. The fact that the super soldier obviously went to the trouble of asking JARVIS about his favorite foods warmed something in his gut that he really didn't want to look at too closely.

 

"Looks like there's only about 8 ounces in the two-liter bottle. Do you have any glasses? Oh, never mind, found one." The commentary didn't require a response so Tony didn't reply, keeping most of his attention on the programming in front of him. He could hear Cap pouring what was left of the soda into a glass, and rolled his eyes at the sound of him tossing the bottle in the recycle bin afterwards.

 

"Thanks," Tony mumbled distractedly around the handful of fries that he'd just shoved in his mouth when Cap returned. He continued to scroll through the helicarrier's sensor array code as he chewed, making annotations as he noted areas to tweak more extensively.

 

Placing the glass of cola next to the burger, Rogers pulled up a chair himself and stared over the engineer's shoulder at the monitor. "What was Thor doing down here besides drinking all your soda?" he asked conversationally.

 

Tony swallowed this time before replying, glancing away from his work at the super soldier with a warm, wry smile. His full stomach merited a little perfunctory conversation. "Apparently Jane's going to be visiting New York in a couple of weeks, and he wanted advice on where to take her while she's here. He figures that, as a scientist, I might know what shows and attractions would appeal to her most."

 

Steve chuckled, and Tony was struck by how pleasant this was. "And did you?", Cap asked.

 

"I had some suggestions." He took several swallows of the cola, then frowned at it and returned to his burger. "It's probably just as well Thor drank most of this; it tastes off." He tilted his head quizzically to study the glass and squinted one eye. "I didn't even think Coke _could_ spoil."

 

Cap frowned. "Do you want me to throw it out?" He reached out a hand to take the cola back.

 

"Nah, it's not that bad. Besides, you'd just drink it yourself. I know how you hate wasting food." He smirked at the blonde as he resumed his attack on the fries.

 

"Well, we didn't have much growing up. I guess some things you never quite get over." He jerked his chin towards the rapidly-disappearing meal. "Doesn't look like it's an issue right this second."

 

"Oh, this is great, really hits the spot." Tony glanced slyly sideways at Steve as he chewed. "Although I kind of expected some sort of nutritious, well-rounded meal when _you_ started playing mother hen."

 

"Hey, this meal has meat, bread, milk, and vegetables. Even though it's fried, it's well-rounded," the super soldier returned with mock indignation. "Besides, at least this I know you'll eat." Steve's brows suddenly drew together and he studied the genius through narrowed eyes. "How long has it been since you ate something, anyway?" he asked with a bare hint of disapproval.

 

Tony rolled his own eyes and popped the last of the burger in his mouth, licking his fingers in appreciation. Why was everybody on his case today, anyway? He'd been managing on his own for a lot longer than some of the Avengers had been alive!

 

We waved a hand dismissively, turning back to the terminal. "Oh, last night I think. I have some Power Bars down here, and there's milk and juice in the fridge. And coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.   I can't spare the time away from my armor repairs."

 

Cap's face clouded even further. "But you're sidelined for at least three more weeks while your foot heals. You should have some time to break for food."

 

Stark stopped typing and turned to stare at Steve like he was an idiot. "Do you recall what that bot did to my beautiful suit? It's gonna take at _least_ three weeks to fix that kinda damage, even ignoring the plating reinforcement."

 

_'Oh'_ , Rogers remembered, _'right'_. He closed his eyes as the vision of the billionaire dangling motionless by his heel from the 30 foot tall mechanical monster swam unbidden to the forefront of his thoughts. He swallowed convulsively as his mind replayed the robot swinging the limp form like a bat into the wall of a nearby building, taking out a chunk of brick in the process and smashing in the side of the armor before dropping the motionless body to the ground. For a gut-clenching few minutes, he'd though that the hero was dead. It wasn't until they finally demolished the robot and rushed to the downed man that they found him still breathing.

 

Tony had been unconscious through most of that, having blacked out early on from either the pain of his mangled foot or his concussion, but it didn't stop his body from sustaining even more damage as the armor was destroyed. His fractured foot had been the least of his injuries and it was four days before the genius felt well enough to bully his way out of SHIELD medical.

 

Once home, the billionaire had headed straight for his workshop. He skipped meals, movie nights, and his own bed, apparently opting to collapse from exhaustion on his ratty lab couch while otherwise working nonstop. As far as Steve could tell, he lived off coffee and whatever he was coerced to eat by his increasingly-worried teammates. After the conversation that morning about Tony's delayed recovery resulting from not getting enough food or rest, Steve decided he was going to be more proactive. This junk food was his first salvo.

 

He forced those thoughts away to deal with later, preferably in the gym with a punching bag. Instead, he cheerily suggested, "Well, how about you take a break tonight anyway? Maybe sleep in your own bed for a change?" He eyed the well-worn sofa dubiously, wondering how anyone could sleep on the thing.

 

Stark snorted as he downed the last of his cola and picked up the shake. "Nah, I'm good. I've slept on that couch so much over the years that its dents fit me better than the most expensive mattress in existence."

 

Rogers shrugged as the genius sucked noisily at his malted and continued typing code corrections one-handed. "OK then, how about I bring you pizza for dinner in a few hours? Clint tells me that 'the tomato sauce totally counts as a vegetable'."

 

Tony chortled without looking away from his screen. "One point for Barton.” He glanced at Steve then, tilting his head as the corners of his eyes creased in fond amusement. "And sure Cap, I'd love some pizza later."

 

Rogers stood and casually walked to the door, not willing to push his luck by insisting on a good night's sleep. The team had decided that morning that they would each help the obsessive genius get the rest and nutrition he needed to heal his injuries, so he'd get someone else to address the sleeping issue. He'd return that evening with more junk food, but he'd try to see how many real vegetables he could get them to put in the toppings.

 

As he heard the lab door shut, Tony finished the last of his milkshake and distractedly set aside the cup as he saved his programming changes. As he stood to return to his welding, an unexpected wave of vertigo washed over him and he grabbed the edge of the table with a white-knuckled grip as he waited for it to pass. It only lasted a moment, after which he wiped a shaky hand across his suddenly-sweaty forehead.

 

_'That was weird. I wonder if I'm coming down with something?'_ He frowned, then mentally shrugged. _'I'll finish welding this one plate in place, then nap for a few hours. Fury's upgrades can wait._ '

 

Eyeing the sofa, he considered just sleeping first but no, there would be time enough after he finished the current portion of the suit.

 

"Are you quite all right, Sir?" asked JARVIS worriedly, noting his hesitance.

 

"Yeah, fine. Just a bit drowsy. The carbs, you know." Tony waved off the AI's concern. "I'll take a nap in a few minutes."

 

"Certainly, Sir." JARVIS sounded relieved at the prospect.

 

Awkwardly grabbing his crutches on the second try, the mechanic hobbled back towards his welding equipment.

 

"Sir, do not forget your earlier promise to Doctor Banner," JARVIS reminded gently before he'd donned his mask again to resume work.

 

The industrialist closed his eyes, dropped his head, and groaned. "Really, JARVIS? Narcotics make my brain fuzzy, and I'm already woozy enough as it is."

 

"Yes, but as Doctor Banner pointed out, the stress put on your body by ignoring your constant pain is delaying the healing process. At this rate your armor will be finished long before you will be well enough to use it."

 

The billionaire's shoulders sagged in defeat. "Fine, but I'm only going to take one right now. I want to finish that enhanced plating before I lie down or Steve shows up with more food." He quirked what he hoped was a reassuring smile as he glanced towards the ceiling sensors.

 

"Very well, sir." Dum-E appeared almost instantly at his elbow with his nearly-full bottle of Percocet, shaking it.

 

"Think you're helping, huh?" demanded the engineer fondly as he took the bottle and removed a single pill and handing the bottle back. "Why don't you make yourself really useful and get me that smoothie over there to wash this down?"

 

Dum-E nodded his claw enthusiastically, carefully taking the proffered medicine bottle and wheeling away with a chirp. He set the pills down on the table next to the violently-green drink, picking it up instead and racing back to where the inventor leaned on his crutches bemusedly watching the process. He took the drink and, tossing back the narcotic, chased it with a mouthful of the surprisingly-palatable vegetable concoction.

 

He looked at the glass in amazement. "Did you make this Dum-E? This is very good. You should remember this for next time." He tried to hand it back, but the bot backed away, refusing to take it from him.

 

"Agent Romanov helped him with the recipe. He is very proud, and would like you to finish it." JARVIS suggested.

 

"Oh she did, did she? And when was she even… no. You know what? I don't want to know. Just tell me that there's no motor oil or poison in it?" He was only half-joking, remembering 'Natalie Rushman'.

 

"Not to my knowledge, Sir. I observed the use of celery, broccoli, mango and pineapple."

 

"Thanks, J." Despite the fact that the spy lived in his tower at his invitation and even fought super-villains on the same team, he had never quite gotten over his mistrust after the needle incident, never mind her deceit at masquerading as his PA.   Even if it had been for his own good, the whole episode had been a little too Orwellian for comfort.   But maybe it was time to let bygones be bygones…

 

He tilted the cup to his lips and finished it off, handing the now-empty glass to the robot when he was done. "There. Happy now?", he asked with mock gruffness. "Go on, take it to the sink. There's a good boy." He watched fondly as Dum-E rolled to the kitchenette, beeping happily. Abruptly another surge of lightheadedness blindsided him and the engineer put a hand to his forehead as he staggered into a nearby counter, bruising his hip with the force of the impact. He leaned heavily against the edge of the table, waiting for the room to stop moving.

 

"Sir, is everything all right?" Despite his unsteadiness, the inventor could hear the concern in his AI's voice. He forced down the nausea that threatened to allow his smoothie to revisit and managed a weak smile.

 

"Yeah….yeah. Just… really woozy for a second." He blinked rapidly and scrubbed at his eyes with his fist to try and clear his foggy vision. "Probably all those carbohydrates mixing with that stupid Percocet." He tried for reassuring, but didn't quite manage it. "I'll just have some coffee before I get back to work."

 

He eyed the kitchenette, which suddenly seemed incredibly distant. Glancing around instead at the nearby tabletops, he spied an almost-full cup only a few feet away on the very surface he was leaning on. He wobbled shakily over until he could grasp it with both trembling hands. He inhaled deeply and noted with gratification that it was still warm as he gulped it down. It was probably the cup he poured just before Rogers came knocking; he'd wondered where he'd set that.

 

He let out a sigh of relief as he carefully replaced the mug, then limped carefully back to his crutches, anticipating the caffeine rush any second. "That oughta do it, J. But until I'm more steady, let's boot up the schematics for the…. for the right boot repulsor unit." He didn't even want to risk working on _Fury's_ coding the way he felt right now.

 

"Sir, are you certain that you are quite all right?" JARVIS was truly alarmed by this point, watching his creator sway more and more unsteadily on a combination of his feet and his crutches.

 

Tony waved a vaguely dismissive hand as his vision blurred further. "Sure. Fine. It's just the pain pill. I think Bruce musta got the stronger kind without telling me. But I'm not safe to operate welding equipment at the moment." He lurched to the nearest lab stool and sank gratefully onto it. "Why don't you pull up those schematics over here?"

 

The requested blueprints began swirling in the air around him, but he was unable to focus his eyes long enough to make any sense out of them. He began blinking rapidly again to try and clear his tunneling vision, with little success. Maybe he should take that nap now…

 

"J'vis? 'M gunna rest m'eyes for a sec…" he mumbled, folding his hands on the counter and dropping his head to rest on them. His eyes slid closed involuntarily as darkness crashed down.

 

TBC...

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

"Doctor Banner, your presence is required in Sir's workshop."

 

Bruce, who had been reading his tablet while taking a coffee break in the communal kitchen, glanced up at the thread of alarm in JARVIS' voice and exchanged a worried look with Rogers across the table. "What is it? Has Tony hurt himself?" Damn, he knew he should have tried to bar the man from his lab once he hit his third sleepless day. Not that it would have worked, but he should have tried.

 

"No sir. He seems to be having side effects from his pain medication."

 

Bruce was out of his chair and racing for the stairs, Steve on his heels. "He never has before. What sort of 'side effects' are we talking about?"

 

"He initially reported dizziness, followed by a lack of coordination and slurred speech. He is currently unconscious and his breathing appears quite shallow. I am unable to arouse him."

 

Bruce frowned as he took the stairs to the workshop two at a time. _'Sounds like an overdose rather than a reaction'_ , he thought in confusion. It certainly seemed unlikely, given Stark's reluctance to take the pain pills, but the symptoms fit.

 

Aloud he asked, "How many pills did he take, JARVIS?"

 

"One, sir."

 

Bruce was at the door to the workshop. Through the glass he could see Tony slumped motionless at a desk, crutches lying haphazardly on the floor. "JARVIS, unlock…"

 

The words weren't even out of his mouth before the door slid open. He darted inside, super soldier right behind him.

 

A quick check revealed that the inventor's pulse was slow but thready, and his respirations shallow and infrequent. He was cool and clammy to the touch, with an unhealthy gray pallor to his skin. Bruce shook his shoulder, gently at first, then more firmly when there was no response. "Tony. Hey, Tony, wake up." Stark's head rolled bonelessly to the side as he almost slid off the chair, arms falling limply akimbo like a puppet with its strings cut.

 

 

"Is he…?" whispered Steve aghast, unable to finish the sentence. He was standing helplessly about a foot behind the physicist, seemingly unable to move, face frozen in horror.

 

"Not dead, at least not yet," Banner responded brusquely to the half-formed question. "But he's deeply unconscious for some reason. If I didn't know how much he hates narcotics, I'd say he'd accidentally overdosed." He absently noted the way Rogers twitched guiltily, but ruthlessly pushed it aside. He'd figure that out later; right now he had a job to do.

 

"JARVIS, has Tony had any alcohol today?" he demanded, one hand on the billionaire's pulse, the other prying open closed lids to check his pupils. _'Hmmm, divergent gaze',_ he noted.

 

"No, sir. None since yesterday, and only two ounces of scotch at that time."

 

Banner slammed a fist on the table. "Damn it! What's going on?"

 

Steve listened to the byplay, mind whirling. Bruce might be confused as to why this seemed to be a narcotic overdose, but Steve had no illusions. He had only wanted to ease the inventor's pain a little by mixing two Percocet tablets into the milkshake! He hadn't realized that something like this could happen.

 

Captain America's intrinsic honor demanded that he admit what he'd done, so he hazarded, "Bruce…"

 

The physicist whirled on him, eyes green-tinged and wild. "What?," he snarled.

 

Rogers quickly rethought admitting to his culpability, at least right now. Bruce was too close to the edge, and the billionaire needed his skills, not the Hulk's. Steve paused momentarily, then continued in a low, soothing voice, "Bruce, you need to stay calm for Tony's sake, all right?"

 

Bruce stared at him incredulously for a moment before closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths. When he opened them, the sclera were white again. The scientist then nodded. "I'm good, thanks Steve. Let's get him to my lab." He stepped back and gestured for Steve to carry the insensate man.

 

Steve nodded as well but remained silent as he stepped forward. He'd tell Bruce later, once Tony was out of danger.

 

JARVIS had the elevator open and waiting by the time Cap had slipped an arm beneath the unconscious engineer's knees and another behind his shoulders, scooping the unresisting form into his arms and running for the door. They made it to Bruce's lab in record time, Banner pointing at an exam table and commanding, "Lay him down over there!" as he himself headed for the emergency medical kit mounted in every research lab in Stark Tower. Jerking it off the wall, mount and all, he rushed back to the exam table where Cap was already hooking up the monitors.

 

The physicist literally ripped the cover off the box in his haste and began rummaging through the contents. "What're his vital signs?" he demanded without looking up.

 

Steve had been through the SHIELD advanced emergency medical training course, so could manage the basics. He had already attached the automatic blood pressure monitor, the EKG leads, and the pulse oximeter by the time Bruce returned with the kit. "Pulse 45, respiration 6 and shallow, BP 82/46. O2 sat 86%" he rattled off.

 

Bruce looked up momentarily from his search. "Hook up a mask to that oxygen canister over there and turn it to three liters, then put it on him."

 

"Got it." Cap hurried to follow Banner's instructions. Even though the physicist wasn't a physician, he had done enough amateur medicine in third world countries that he seemed to know what he was doing. If nothing else, at least they were _doing_ something. He carefully positioned the plastic mask over the billionaire's nose and mouth, cinching the elastic snugly behind his head. His gut twisted in guilt as he stared at the barely-breathing man.

 

His ruminations were interrupted by Bruce pulling out some items from the kit. "Here it is," the scientist growled triumphantly, brandishing a pre-filled syringe and an alcohol wipe. Turning to Tony, he tightened a tourniquet around his limp arm then swabbed down a vein. Drawing back enough blood to be certain that he was in the correct spot, he injected the full contents of the syringe after releasing the tourniquet. He then snagged an IV bag and tubing and began setting it up.

 

"What was that?", asked Rogers in concern. "The shot?"

 

"Naloxone, otherwise known as Narcan. I don't know how or why, but he's acting exactly like someone who has overdosed on narcotics, so I'm treating him for that. Narcan binds to the same receptors, thus counteracting the drugs for about 45 minutes, giving the body a chance to metabolize some of the drug."

 

As if to punctuate his statement, Tony's forehead creased in pain and he groaned. He was still deeply asleep, but glancing at the monitors showed Bruce that his blood pressure, pulse, and oxygen saturation had all improved significantly. He finished setting up the IV and got it running before he allowed himself to relax.

 

Banner leaned back against a nearby countertop with a relieved sigh. "Good. He looks stable now, but will probably sleep for the next six or eight hours simply because he needs the rest. I'll keep him on the monitors until I'm sure most of the drugs are out of his system."

 

Steve shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, self-reproach worming through him. Still, he could suffer the pain of a guilty conscience until Tony was safe, but then he would admit to everything.  

 

Bruce frowned, noticing that something was… off with Steve. Before he could ask about it, Rogers jerked his thumb towards the door and rushed, "I'll just go and let the rest of the team know what's happening. Call when he's out of the woods, or if we can help?"

 

"Sure thing, Cap," Bruce answered slowly, still parsing the uncharacteristic behavior. Then, apparently setting that mentally aside, he turned and began drawing blood samples from the arm without the IV. He didn't even notice the last guilty glance the super soldier shot the gurney before leaving the room.

 

 

 

It took a few minutes to run the analysis, during which time Bruce examined the comatose scientist minutely. _'If this is an overdose, could it have been intentional?'_ he wondered as he checked for equal pupil response. He doubted it; Tony didn't seem even vaguely suicidal. Still, Banner knew from personal experience that it was sometimes difficult to tell, especially in a man who wore as many masks as Stark. Pepper wasn't around any more to keep the genius on an even keel, either.

 

Well, easy way to find out if Stark had deliberately taken too many narcotics. "JARVIS, are you _certain_ that he only took one Percocet?"

 

"Yes, Doctor Banner, and that only at my insistence. I had to remind him of his promise to you."

 

Bruce recalled their conversation that morning vividly. He had wandered down to ask Tony to review some of his calculations, only to find the man hunched around the cracked ribs he'd received from his impact with the building, breathing shallowly to minimize the discomfort. After the discussion the team had had over breakfast, Banner felt obliged to convince the other scientist to at least _try_ to control his pain, even if he wasn't going to get enough rest. Bruce had managed to get him to take a single Percocet then, with an agreement to take another in four to six hours.

 

Maybe he wasn't clear enough with JARVIS. "How many did he take between the one with me this morning and the one you made him take this afternoon?"

 

"None, sir."

 

Bruce slumped back in his chair and tapped his chin thoughtfully, brows creased. _'OK, not intentional. Maybe attempted murder?'_ Heavens knew that Stark had enemies, which was why the security in the Tower was so tight. Also, if you believed the common press, Tony was the sort of person who the public expected to be addicted to narcotics. It was only a small mental leap for an assassin to try and kill him with an overdose, incorrectly assuming that it would be construed as accidental and a result of a dissolute lifestyle. Of course, anyone who actually knew the genius knew that you only had to offer a pain pill to Stark once to get an earful of his rant against drugs that clouded his thinking.

 

Still, How'd the saying go? _'_ _Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.'_

 

"JARVIS, you keep video footage of Tony's workshop, don't you? May I review it, or is it locked to Tony?"

 

"What time period would you like to examine?" came the reasonable response. Clearly, Stark had coded some timestamps for his eyes only, most likely to add another layer of security to prevent industrial espionage on sensitive projects.

 

"From the time I left the lab this morning until you called me to return."

 

"This footage is available to you in its entirety. Please turn your attention to your primary monitor," the AI replied.

 

"Begin right after I left the workshop." He knew Tony had been perfectly fine at that point, hard at work on his armor repairs once the single Percocet had kicked in and he could breathe easier. Bruce leaned forward intently, fast forwarding through the portions of video that only showed the engineer working. He made a mental note of the location of each glass and cup from which he drank, as well as the wrappings from the meal Steve had delivered. He needed to check everything Tony consumed for narcotic residue, no matter how unlikely. He concentrated intensely on his self-appointed task, trying to ignore visual evidence of Tony's deteriorating state that began shortly after Steve left the room. He recalled briefly the guilty expression on Cap's face earlier, but pushed it aside. Stark was in no shape to protect himself if 'the Other Guy' made an impromptu appearance. Bruce decided to talk to Steve later, though.

 

"Mr. Stark's blood toxicology screen is complete," interrupted JARVIS just as Bruce was watching Steve and himself rush back into the room.

 

"Display it here, would you?," he requested, taking off his glasses and cleaning them on his shirt before replacing them on his nose. His eyes widened in surprise at the results scrolling across the screen and he whistled softly. "That… is an impressive level of both opiates and benzodiazepines."   He glanced involuntarily at the other scientist who was now softly snoring. Shaking his head, he muttered, "It's a good thing your liver is used to metabolizing large amounts of alcohol, or you'd be dead."

 

Grimly he flicked off the screen. "JARVIS, watch him for a minute? I have to go collect a few things from Tony's workshop for analysis. I'll be right back."

 

"Certainly. I will alert you immediately if his status changes."

 

"Thank you." Bruce was sure that Stark was in capable hands, but decided to hurry anyway.

 

-A-A-A-A-A-

 

After analyzing the residue from the cups, glasses, and food containers he had gathered from Tony's lab and comparing the results to the serum toxicology screen, Bruce closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands, concentrating once more on taking slow, deep, calming breaths. There were traces of narcotics in both the malted milk shake that Steve had brought and in the cup of coffee Tony had consumed in a last-ditch effort to clear his head after staggering into the table it sat on. Sedatives were present in the Coca-cola bottle Thor had drunk from and in Natasha's smoothie. No other item appeared contaminated.

 

After the discussion at breakfast, he had a pretty good idea what was going on and he wasn't very happy about it.

 

Before he made groundless accusations though, he wanted to be one hundred percent certain. He glanced again at Tony to reassure himself that the other man was still breathing spontaneously and sleeping naturally, then addressed the Tower AI.

 

"JARVIS? Is it possible to zoom in that security feed? Concentrate on a particular object?"

 

"Certainly, Sir."

 

"Do you analyze footage routinely to that degree?" If he did, then there was probably nothing to see and Bruce would be wasting time better spent knocking some heads together until they saw sense.

 

"Only upon request. Otherwise it would necessitate too much storage space on my hard drive."

 

Bruce nodded grimly, suspecting as much. "Let's start with the smoothie production, then."

 

It took almost an hour, but by the end of his detailed analysis the scientist knew for certain; the Avengers had almost killed one of their own. On the tape Bruce witnessed Natasha subtly slip a small white pill with a cutout 'K' from her palm into the smoothie blender just before closing it, smiling reassuringly at Dum-E who hovered anxiously at her side while the billionaire worked with a blowtorch on the far side of the lab. He didn't even seem aware that the Russian spy was in the room, and didn't notice when she left. Thor came in a short time later and spoke at length about his 'glorious Jane' until Tony tuned him out. He excused himself, claiming thirst, and drank all but the last glass of soda from the bottle Tony kept in the workshop fridge. Then, with a craftiness uncharacteristic to the Asgardian, Thor dropped a blue-and-red capsule into the Coke he hadn't consumed and swirled it around absently to dissolve as he spoke of Jane's impending visit. Stark merely answered the demi-god's questions distractedly, filing down the rough edges of the section he'd just completed with a grinding wheel. Just before Steve arrived, Tony had Dum-E bring him a cup of hot coffee which he absently set on the counter, becoming distracted by some force measurement results scrolling across a nearby monitor. It was so inconspicuous to be almost unnoticeable, but Bruce zoomed in on the mug and watched carefully. His focused attention paid off; after a few minutes a small white pill landed in the steaming mug and likely dissipated almost instantly. He backtracked to its source of origin, which proved to be the ventilation shaft. While he didn't actually see the archer, Banner had little doubt as to who was responsible. Finally, although he didn't actually see Steve drug the shake, only Rogers and Tony touched it and Banner recalled the Captain's guilty expression at his earlier mention of accidental overdose.

 

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose to fend off the impending headache. Clearly the team had heard his objections to shooting Stark with a tranquilizer dart during the breakfast discussion, but hadn't really _understood_. Instead, they each independently decided to medicate the man against his will 'for his own good', but were careful not to let anyone else know for fear of it getting back to Bruce.

He sighed, then stood to examine Tony again. The overworked genius was now curled on his side like a cat and snoring softly, his vital signs back to normal as he slept purely due to exhaustion, not sedatives. He'd be safe to leave alone for the time being.

 

Banner tilted his face towards the ceiling. "JARVIS, I want you to call a team meeting, everybody but Tony." His eyes narrowed dangerously. "We need to have a little conversation about 'informed consent'."

 

-A-A-A-A-A-

 

Bruce waited until everyone was seated before entering the common area, using the time to settle down and figure out precisely what he wanted to say since he had apparently _not_ been clear that morning. He was uncomfortable with being the center of attention, but he threw back his shoulders and steeled his resolve before stalking into the living room. Worried friends or not, these 'superheroes' needed to understand that what they did was _not_ _OK_. He needed to be sure that this would _never_ happen again.

 

He stayed standing, forcing himself not to twist his hands together nervously, and cleared his throat.

 

He started off polite but firm. "Thank you all for coming. I know everyone is busy, but we need to discuss Tony's current condition."

 

The group appeared confused by his somber tone, and exchanged worried glances. All but Steve, that is. He just shrunk down in his chair and looked guilty and miserable. Bruce felt a little sympathy for the Captain; of all the medicines that Tony had been unwillingly dosed with that day, Steve had only given him a narcotic that had been prescribed for him by a doctor, and in the appropriate dose for his pain level. Still, it was non-consensual, so despite good intentions, it was still the wrong thing to do.

 

"I thought the Man of Iron was finally sleeping!" exclaimed Thor. "Is this not a good thing?" Bruce was stunned at how well the normally-obvious Asgardian playacted at being innocent.

 

His eyes flashed an enraged green before he closed them and took several careful breaths, reining in his temper. They remained brown when his lashes raised, but a furious fire could still be seen smoldering in their depths.

 

"No, it's not," he grit out. "If it hadn't been for JARVIS' monitoring and Tony's habit of overstocking the lab emergency medical kits, he might very well have _died_." He held up a hand for silence as voices rose in a sudden cacophony of questions. Steve huddled down even further.

 

"Please, I'll explain everything. However, I'm so angry right now that, if you don't want a impromptu visit from the 'Other Guy', you'll just sit quietly and keep your mouths closed." He looked up then, meeting each of their eyes and receiving a grudging acknowledgement from them all.

 

Inhaling deeply, he began. "I'm going to tell you three stories. I really need you to just shut up and listen to them, and I'll take questions after I'm done."

 

"Susan was my lab partner in Chem 101 in college. She was beautiful, brilliant, and wanted to be a doctor. She had grown up in the Midwest and hadn't had much of a social life in high school, so the dorm life in college was a bit of a shock. Still, she lived in the Honor Students' building, so it wasn't as bad as it could have been."

 

"She quickly became close friends with her roommates and with the guys across the hall. The eight of them were practically inseparable. And, while they often teased her for her dislike of hard liquor and chided her to 'loosen up' at parties, she got along with them famously."

 

"About halfway through second semester Susan's friends threw a party, and several of them got together and decided to slip her a little something to get her to relax, 'for her own good'. One of the girls had a prescription for Valium and managed to slip one into the drink Susan was nursing, after which she certainly did 'loosen up'. By the next morning she couldn't remember the party at all and had a case of herpes as well as an unwanted pregnancy." He fixed the group with a laser-sharp glare. "She dropped out to raise the child on her own; last I knew, she was a lab assistant at Culver."

 

He paused for effect, eyebrow raised, then continued. "The second story is my own, and while it is different, there are important similarities." He did wring his hands nervously now, but stilled them when he caught himself at it.

 

"Now, I've given both SHIELD and the Avengers blanket permission to tranq me if the Hulk gets out of hand and becomes a threat; that stands indefinitely. However, General Ross of the US Army has a history of not only sedating the Other Guy _without_ permission, but of tranquilizing _me_ while I'm still human. He has authorized medical experimentation that included not only drugging me comatose, but injecting me with experimental substances to either suppress or bring out the Hulk depending upon his whim. None of this involved informed consent, or any consent at all. The only 'permission' he felt was needed was that _in his opinion_ it was for my own good, or for the good of those around me."

 

A glance at his audience found them now exchanging uncomfortable looks; Steve was noticing that he wasn't the only person looking guilty.

 

"By now I guess you know where this is going. The third story is Tony's. At breakfast, when we were discussing his insomnia and reluctance to take narcotics, I thought I made it clear that drugging him against his will or knowledge was not an acceptable course of action, no matter how much he needed to rest. Apparently what you all _understood_ was that I _personally_ had a problem with it, and it would be OK as long as I didn't find out. After all, it was 'for his own good', wasn't it?"

 

He glared at the gathered superheroes, eyes momentarily flashing emerald once again. "Guess what? I found out, because Tony _damn near stopped breathing!_ " He was shouting by the end of the sentence. He visibly curbed his temper while the rest of the team wisely remained still. After a moment he resumed his lecturing posture.

 

"Tony has had insomnia his entire life. His mind has a minimum of three separate, complete trains of thought running at any given moment, and sometimes up to twelve. It's one of the recognized down-sides to being a genius. Most self-medicate with alcohol, and in this Stark follows the classic pattern. He and I have talked about it in the past and, while I don't want to betray any confidences, I need you people to understand the ramifications of what you did."

 

"What we did?" interrupts Natasha blandly, feigning innocence. The rest had obviously resigned themselves to their guilt.

 

Fortunately Bruce had expected at least one of them to deny attempting to involuntarily medicate the engineer, so he didn't lose his temper. Instead, he matter-of-factly pointed at each of them in turn. "All right, let's get specific. Nat, you mixed 2 milligrams of Klonopin into a smoothie for Dum-E to give him after you left. Clint tossed what looked like a 4 milligram dilaudid into his coffee. Thor slipped a 30 milligram Restoril into Tony's Coca-cola, and Steve laced the milkshake he brought him with Percocet." By the conclusion even the Widow had trouble meeting his livid, penetrating gaze.

 

"Now, if we're through pretending that I'm an idiot, I'll proceed," he snarled. "As I was saying, turning his mind off long enough to get to sleep is challenging, and he copes with alcohol. A sleeping pill would work, but when he takes one and has one of the 'bad dreams' he's had since Afghanistan? _He isn't able to wake up._ I don't know which of you have experienced PTSD nightmares, but I'll bet most of you know exactly what I'm talking about. Now imagine how it would feel if you couldn't professionally wake up."

 

Steve's eyes widened in horror and he wrapped his hands around his arms and shivered involuntarily as if cold. Clint looked briefly dismayed, then blank as when in Loki's thrall. Natasha's eyes became ruthless obsidian, and it didn't take much imagination to see the Red Room reflected in their depths. And while Thor didn't become momentarily lost in his own mind, he did at least seem to understand and be ashamed.

 

Bruce paused for a moment to let his words sink into his audience. "So sleeping pills? Sedatives? Not a great plan."

 

"Now narcotics. He doesn't like pain pills because they cloud his thinking, making it unsafe to work with a lot of the materials he uses on a daily basis. It's the same 'fuzzy' feeling that causes some people to become addicted - they like their reality chemically blurred. Since he rarely takes them, he's more sensitive than he might be otherwise, although his regular alcohol consumption counters that to a great extent. Between the one pill he took for me, the two that were almost certainly in Captain Rogers' shake…"

 

At this Steve blushed in shame and stared at his own clasped hands again.

 

"…and the dilaudid Clint dropped in his coffee, he had about five times his prescribed four hour max dose within about fifteen minutes."

 

"Now add in the sleeping pill with which Thor spiked the cola and the anxiolytic Nat mixed in his smoothie, both of which are benzodiazipines like valium, and it's a miracle that he survived long enough for help to arrive." He crossed his arms over his chest. "The only part of that dosage to which Tony consented or was even aware was the single pain pill he had agreed to take after talking to me this morning." He glared at the assemblage. "I need you _all_ to understand that this is no different than the other two stories. You medicated him 'for his own good', without his consent, just like Ross and Susan's so-called friends."

 

His voice dropped to a deeper register, and he fought to keep the Hulk from joining the conversation. Still, it was with barely-controlled rage that he hissed, "Who do you think you are, deciding for a grown man what is and what isn't in his best interest? Doctors have to have a patient declared mentally incompetent before they can legally administer drugs without patient consent, even life-saving medications as innocuous as antibiotics. As long as the patient is in his right mind and understands the ramifications of not taking the drugs, 'no' means _no_. And not even giving them the choice? Only acceptable if the patient is unconscious or unable to give consent. Sorry for the turn of phrase Thor, but _who died and made you guys Gods?"_

 

He was panting by the end of his tirade, still glaring at them all. After a few more heaving breaths he seemed to find his voice again.

 

"OK, I'm done. Questions?" he snapped out.

 

"Ummm," Clint spoke hesitantly, hand raised to shoulder height. "How is he?"

 

That got nods from Steve and the others, and Bruce was somewhat mollified that Tony's condition was their first concern. The regret evident in their faces confirmed that he'd actually managed to get his point across this time.

 

"He'll be fine. He's sleeping naturally now," he admitted grudgingly.

 

"Can we see him?," asked Steve.

 

"He'll be up and around in a day or so. Right now I'd like to let him rest." Bruce was feeling understandably protective.

 

"We didn't mean any harm," mumbled Steve, without a trace of self-righteousness. "We only wanted him to rest and recover."

 

"Tell him that when he wakes up." Banner narrowed his eyes with skepticism. "Hopefully he'll forgive you for almost _killing_ him with kindness."

 

The team nodded and exchanged more guilty looks. When no more questions were forthcoming, he nodded sharply. "Right then. If that's all, I'm going back to my patient." He turned on his heel and stalked out, certain that this would _never_ happen again.

 

He was satisfied. The question was, _'How will Tony react?'_

 

 

_TBC....._


	3. Chapter 3

 

Swimming to consciousness was a lazy process for a change, with no sense of urgency. Tony's brain still felt as if it were smothered in cotton, like the last time he'd been hospitalized in SHIELD medical for too long. He cracked his eyes open to see white tiles above him that did not belong in his bedroom or his lab, but didn't look like the helicarrier medbay, either. He squinted up at them suspiciously, but couldn't remember any trauma since the robot broke his foot, so it shouldn't be a civilian hospital.

 

Before he could ponder too long, a soft, grounding voice said, "Hey, Tony. You're all right. You're in my lab."

 

"Bruce," he croaked, then cleared his voice and tried again, "Bruce, what happened? Why is everything so fuzzy? I can't remember… did something happen to my brain?"

 

Banner replied without equivocation, but with a touch of residual anger. "Your teammates were so worried that you weren't resting that they took it upon themselves to make sure you got some sleep."

 

"What?" The engineer wasn't sure he followed, and his confusion showed on his face.

 

The physicist snorted. "They each dosed your food and drink with either a narcotic or a benzodiazepine. Unfortunately, they did it without each others' knowledge, so you were inadvertently overdosed." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Don't worry; I've 'discussed' this with them. It _won't_ happen again."

 

Stark's eyes widened in disbelief. "After all those years of self-abuse I almost die because my frie... my teammates don't trust me to be able to take care of myself?"

 

Bruce was winced internally at how Tony had already started changing his mental categories. "I don't think I'd phrase it exactly like that…but essentially, yes." Tony Stark's trust was usually hard-won, if his file was to be believed; the Avengers miraculously seemed to have slipped into a position just under Pepper, Happy, and Rhodey. It looked like this debacle had shot it to hell, though.

 

Of course, now that he thought about it, Bruce wasn't sure how much to trust the others himself. To be perfectly willing to drug food brought as a gift, then sit and smile as your victim drank it? Banner never would have believed it of Steve. Natasha, yes. Steve, no.

 

Tony became pensive, clearly entertaining similar thoughts. "Huh," he grunted, introspectively chewing on his lip. After a moment he looked up and met Bruce's eyes. "Even Cap?," he asked quietly, and his voice cracked just a bit.

 

Bruce's lips tightened grimly and he nodded. "Yeah. Your shake. He put two Percocet in it."

 

Tony shifted to sit up, and Bruce stood to adjust the back of the gurney to support him. By the time they finished, the engineer was getting angry. "Who else?," he demanded, eyes glinting anger.

 

Bruce ticked them off on his fingers. "Clint, four milligrams dilaudid. Steve, ten milligrams Percocet. Thor, 30 milligrams Restoril. Natasha, two milligrams of Klonopin."

 

"The Smoothie!," Tony hissed, enraged. "I knew I should never have trusted her," he growled to himself. He snorted. "So much for 'let bygones be bygones'."

 

Banner's brows creased in confusion and he tilted his head. "What?"

 

Tony grimaced, suddenly angry at himself. "She did something like this to me before, only then she was masquerading as my PA and going by the name Natalie Rushman. Stuck a needle in my neck with a drug to help with my Palladium poisoning; didn't ask, just did it. I've been trying to keep her at arm's length, but… she's an important member of the team. I almost had Dummy toss the smoothie when I found out she helped make it, but I figured that I had to forgive her sometime." His eyes became obsidian. "Not a mistake I'll make again."

 

He inhaled deeply, then sighed. After a moment he glanced up at Bruce curiously. "How'd you manage to save me?"

 

"JARVIS called for help when he couldn't wake you."

 

Tony thought for a second , then offered, "Narcan?"

 

A corner of Bruce's mouth quirked up. "Yeah. Good thing your lab emergency medical kits are so extensive."

 

Tony smiled a bit as well, but it rapidly fell from his face. He stared down at his own clasped hands in his lap and was uncharacteristically silent for a long minute. Finally, in a voice so low that it could barely be heard, he asked, "Bruce, what am I gonna do? I'll never trust them again, not after this."

 

"Think about that, Tony. Is this going to extend to the field, or just to food and drink? Because what you do next hinges on the answer." Bruce was unusually solemn.

 

The genius took a few minutes to truly give the question his full consideration. Finally he managed, "Just food and drink, I think. I won't be able to eat anything any of them gives me for the forseeable future, maybe forever. But I ought to be OK in the armor." The corner of his mouth rose in a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I'm always OK in the armor."

 

"They meant well," Bruce tried, but his heart wasn't in it either.

 

Tony's eyes widened in realization. "Oh, God, this is giving you flashbacks to General Ross. I'm so sorry, Bruce."

 

The physicist snorted. "No reason for you to be sorry; you're the victim in this scenario, remember?"

 

"Yeah, but still…"

 

Banner took off his glasses and cleaned them. "I'll be fine. I'll stick with the Avengers and fight by their side. But I think 'team dinner' is going to be crossed off my weekly calendar."

 

Tony actually chuckled. "Yeah, me too. Still, the puppy dog looks are going to be unbearable until they think I've forgiven them. They probably won't notice your new food avoidance issues, but they are going to be watching me like a hawk." He pondered for a minute, then murmured, "I'm going to have to pretend that it's OK."

 

"What?" Bruce was aghast.

 

The billionaire spread his hands in a 'what can you do' gesture. "Cap will go on a lethal mope, Clint and Natasha will get bloodily defensive, and Thor will just wander around confused as to why his 'Shield Brothers' aren't getting along. Hell, for all we know, non-consensual drugging of food or drink might be a sign of affection in Asgard!"

 

Banner sniggered, "I doubt it, but you're probably right about the rest. But how? Can you forgive them that readily, for the good of the team?"

 

Stark shot the other scientist his best media grin. "Fake it till you make it, baby," he chortled, then clapped his hands together. "In the end, no harm done, right? Now I'm rested and need to get back to work!"

 

"Tony, are you sure…." Bruce began, but was interrupted.

 

"Fit as a fiddle!" the engineer exclaimed brightly, then grimaced and pointed to his broken foot. "Well, except for that, of course. Could you hand me my crutches?"

 

Bruce shook his head slowly in disbelief as he gathered up the crutches and handed them over. "My God," he said in wonder. "You missed your calling not becoming an actor!"

 

Stark's smile morphed into a real one at that. "Hey, I'm good at everything I do. I just happen to like blowing shit up the best."

 

Bruce nodded, returning a shy grin of his own. "That I believe. It's still a shame. You would have won an Oscar."

 

 

-A-A-A-A-A-

 

 

As everyone expected, the inventor disappeared into his lab for the next two days, presumably to brood. Life otherwise resumed its normal course, with only the _occasional_ guilty expression exchanged between them. On the morning of the third day Stark appeared in the common kitchen in search of coffee, yawning and scratching his head.

 

"Hi, Tony," Steve said softly in greeting, unsure how the scientist might react. The soldier had just finished pouring himself a mug of coffee from the fresh pot, but hadn't sipped from it yet, so he held it out in offering. "Coffee?"

 

The billionaire flashed him a grateful smile, which almost caused Steve to sag in relief, but then shook his head. "No, thanks. I can get my own." He hobbled over to the cabinet where the cups were kept, carefully maneuvering on his crutches. Rogers noticed with puzzlement that Stark picked a nondescript mug from the middle of the shelf rather than taking his normal 'I Am Iron Man' cup that Pepper had given him as a joke but that he loved. He turned away, embarrassed to be staring and not wanting to make the other man feel uncomfortable.

 

As Tony filled it with black coffee, he watched Steve surreptitiously as the soldier drank his own. No apparent ill effects, he decided, and no one knew he'd be coming to the kitchen right then, so probably the coffee was OK. It was reasonable to take the chance, anyway.

 

Cap broke unexpectedly into his thoughts. "Look, Tony, I just wanted to say…" began the Steve uncomfortably. "I'm sorry. I just meant to try and help…"

 

Oh, no. They were _not_ going there. "Don't worry, Bruce told me all about it." He fixed his team leader with a razor-sharp stare. "You guys are never going to do it again after he talked to you, right?" He waved a hand dismissively, then shrugged, turning away. "You were just doing what you thought best." He gathered up his cup and crutches and awkwardly made his way to the door. "Gotta get back to work!," he caroled cheerfully as he limped away.

 

Steve was astonished. Was Tony truly not angry at them? He would have bet money that the billionaire would be furious. His heart felt a little lighter at the thought. Maybe there was a chance for everything to go back to how it was.

 

When Stark didn't reappear for lunch, Steve decided that he owed the man one non-drugged meal at any rate. He went to Tony's favorite burger joint and got a large cheeseburger with all the trimmings, fries, and a shake. It didn't occur to him until he was nearly to the workshop that this was exactly the same food that he'd used to trick the genius into taking narcotics before. He stopped dead on the stairs and stared at the bag for a moment, then decided to at least give it a try. The worst the billionaire could do was throw it in his face, right?

 

When he reached the workshop door, he hesitated a moment before entering his code, almost certain that it would be blocked. To his surprised delight, the door whooshed open immediately. He could see the engineer at a far table, pounding out a particularly stubborn dent in his armor prior to welding on the reinforcing plate that was lying nearby. His hair was plastered flat with sweat around the safety goggles that covered his eyes. His hammer rose and fell with a reassuring rhythm, pounding in time to the beat of the omnipresent rock music. There was no evidence that the man had heard him enter.

 

"Tony?" he called, cupping a hand beside his mouth to help his voice carry. "I have some lunch for you!"

 

The billionaire glanced up and, seeing Steve standing awkwardly just inside the doorway holding out the bag, set down the hammer, pulled up his goggles, and smiled a welcome. "Hey, Steve! A burger? Thanks!" He pointed to a nearby table with a clean surface. "Just set it there, would you? I'm a little busy right now."

 

Rogers smiled in return, inordinately relieved. "Sure thing." He did as directed, then shifted awkwardly from foot to foot.

 

The inventor tilted his head quizzically. "Was there something else you needed, Cap?" he asked. "I'm kinda tied up right now, but I'll see what I can do later?"

 

Steve shook his head, embarrassed. "No, I just… it's nothing."

 

Tony shrugged before lowering his goggles once again and picking up his hammer. "OK, if you're sure. You know where I am if whatever it is becomes 'something'." The pounding resumed with a vengeance.

 

"OK, well, I'll just…" his sentence trailed off as the billionaire clearly could no longer hear him, so he turned and saw himself out. He couldn't help a feeling of relief as he did so; the exchange had been completely normal. Apparently the other man really wasn't going to hold a grudge. Steve couldn't believe that he'd been that lucky. He found himself whistling under his breath as he climbed the stairs to the common area.

 

Once he was certain that the super soldier was gone, Tony pushed up his goggles and shot an angry glare at the door, then shifted its laser intensity to the take-out on the metal counter. His eyes hooded and his expression grew calculating. After a few minutes a devilish smirk lit his face, and he called over his shoulder, "Dummy! Get over here!"

 

He hobbled to the steel table where the fast food sat and carefully shifted anything else flammable out of the immediate vicinity. Dummy wheeled up obediently at that moment and looked curiously at the paper bag and cup sitting in isolation on the workspace.

 

The inventor pointed at Roger's gift. "See that? I need your help with that."

 

The robot arm bobbed inquiringly, looking first at Stark, then at the food, then back to the engineer again. It made an inquisitive cooing chirp.

 

Tony grinned wickedly; Dummy was going to love this. Moving as quickly as he could with a bum foot, he slid his safety goggles back over his eyes, then snatched up the blowtorch that was lying on the table as well. He lit it up with a vicious smile, opened the flame up completely, then turned it on the fast food. The sack and contents caught fire with gratifying speed.

 

Dummy made an alarmed high-pitched whine, then spun on its axis and zoomed off. Within seconds the agitated bot had returned with its favorite fire extinguisher and was resolutely deploying it. Tony couldn't help himself; he laughed until his sides ached at the picture of Dummy turning Steve's burger, fries, and possibly-poisoned shake into just so much foam-covered charcoal.

 

Once he was certain that the fire was extinguished, the robot arm turned to the still-chuckling scientist, brandishing its weapon of choice. Stark wiped the tears of laughter from his cheeks with the back of his hand and collected himself enough to speak.

 

"Good… ha, ha… good boy, Dummy! You're a good bot. Ha, ha, ha… Good job!"

 

Dummy fluffed with pride, waggling the red canister proudly in his claw and making satisfied beeps. Tony smiled down at him fondly.

 

"Yes, Dummy, you did very well. Now take that trash and toss it in the disposal, yeah?"

 

The robot pincers jerked up and down and chirped its agreement. It set aside the fire extinguisher before gingerly snagging the remains of the meal and zooming off. The engineer watched with inordinate satisfaction as his helper hurled the food remnants into the waste chute at the far end of the workshop before returning to his armor, humming to himself along with AC/DC.

 

 

 

That evening found him once more in the common kitchen for coffee just as Barton was finishing up a meatloaf for team dinner. "Hey, Tony! Long time no see. You staying?"

 

The engineer shrugged, smiled, and shook his head as he moved towards the empty coffeemaker. "Nah, not hungry, and too much to do downstairs. On top of everything else, Pepper just overnighted a stack of documents that she needs reviewed and signed yesterday." His smile appeared genuinely grateful as he added fresh grounds to the machine and water to the reservoir. "Thanks, though. I'll take a rain check."

 

Clint held up the plate with the meat on it as if it were an offering. "You sure? I make a mean meatloaf!"

 

Stark rubbed his stomach as if it were full. "Steve brought me a huge lunch this afternoon. I'm good for now. Thanks anyway."

 

"Your loss," shrugged the archer, vaguely disappointed but carefully not showing it. He grabbed the bowl of potatoes as well and kicked open the swinging door into the dining room to set them on the table.

 

Stark stared narrow-eyed at the closed door and muttered, "So you say. I'll take my chances." He turned back to the coffeemaker and waited for it to brew.

 

Once back in his workshop he addressed his AI. "JARVIS? I'm feeling peckish. Could you order my usual pizza, please? And add garlic bread as well." He thought for a moment, recalling what Bruce had said about avoiding team dinners for a while. "Also, order whatever Bruce usually likes, and let him know to come down here when it arrives."

 

"Yes, Sir. One large meat-lover's special, one medium vegetable delight, and an order of garlic bread. Anything else?" The computer seemed pleased.

 

"Nah, I think…oh. Be sure and have the delivery boy use the freight elevator and bring him directly to this floor, would you? No reason to tempt fate."

 

"As you say, Sir." Yes, no mistaking it; there was definite approval in the computerized voice. JARVIS could be so over-protective sometimes.

 

 

 

 

"Agent Romanov is requesting entry, Sir," came JARVIS' dry announcement.

 

Tony looked up from where he was carefully soldering a circuit board for a new portable analyzing device. "Go ahead and let her in, J. I just upgraded those Widow's Bites to give her more choices when deploying them. She's here to pick them up."

 

"As you wish, Sir." This time the AI was frankly disapproving, but released the latch on the door.

 

"Stark? You said that you had something for me?" Natasha sounded as cool and collected as always.

 

The inventor jerked a thumb over his shoulder without looking up from his project. "On the counter. I wired in those upgrades we discussed, and made the controls easier to adjust on the fly." He bent down and concentrated on his meticulous work.

 

The assassin nodded her head once, brow arched. "Thank you, Stark. I appreciate your time." She sauntered towards the indicated table, only to have Dummy suddenly roll himself directly in front of her and plant himself there. "Dummy?" she asked, then moved to the side. The robot shifted to impede her again.   She faked to the right, then moved left, but he kept placing himself between her and her objective. Finally deciding that enough was enough, she called out, "Stark? Could you tell Dummy that I can have my equipment?"

 

The engineer's head jerked up and his brows drew together at the scene before him. "Dummy! Natasha is here at my request. Let her get to the counter and take the bracelets."

 

The bot rolled backwards towards the kitchen with obvious reluctance, but allowed Natasha to proceed without further hindrance. He kept his clawed arm facing her at all times however, and it was a little unnerving. She thought that the robot was warming up to her. Obviously she was mistaken.

 

Picking up the weapons, she studied them intently and then smiled. "Thank you, Stark, these are perfect." She turned to find the genius watching her with hawk-like sharpness.

 

"Good. Let me know if they need to be tweaked at all." He dropped his eyes and returned his attention to his circuit board.

 

She studied the engineer and the bot skeptically and then shrugged. Strolling out of the room, she disappeared up the stairs as JARVIS closed and locked the workshop door with an audible click. At the sound Stark jerked a suddenly-flinty gaze to the now-empty stairwell. He glared after her suspiciously for a few moments, then his eyes softened when he turned to Dummy, who was still hovering protectively in front of the mini-kitchenette.

 

"Come here, Dummy," he said with playful gruffness. "You're a smart boy, aren't you? Guarding the blender after she tricked you into drugging me. I'll bet you won't let Thor slip past you, either, will you? Good boy." He gently stroked the mechanical arm, patting it once for good measure. "Let's see if we can find some oil for my brave protector, shall we?"

 

The bot nodded enthusiastically as Tony laughed, good humor restored.

 

 

 

"Hey, I'm heading upstairs to grab a sandwich. You want anything from the kitchen?" Bruce had been in Tony's workshop since early that morning helping him iron out some details on his new scanner's sampling array. It was now three o'clock, and his stomach was making its displeasure known.

 

Stark glanced up from the mini-pipette he was working with. "Huh? Oh, uh, yeah. A can of Coke would be good. What kind of sandwich are we talking here?"

 

Bruce was more attuned to the nuances in Tony's behavior than the rest of the team, and could see that while the billionaire verbally played down his accidental overdose, the fact that his team had drugged him without his knowledge still weighed heavily on the genius' mind. 'Fake it till you make it' was clearly a motto Stark was very, very good at using. Nevertheless, Banner was aware that the billionaire hadn't eaten or drunk anything with any Avenger other than himself unless absolutely necessary, and then only if the other person ate/drank the same substance first. Anything edible brought to the lab by one of his teammates was gratefully accepted, 'absentmindedly' set aside, then discarded or destroyed the minute the engineer was alone. All the while Tony continued to smile, joke, snark, and otherwise interact with the team the same as always. Bruce theorized that the superheroes were so grateful that Stark appeared to have brushed aside his accidental poisoning that they blissfully ignored his persistent barely-veiled distrust.

 

Of course, the same could be said for himself.

 

"I was going to make a fresh ham and cheese. It'd be no trouble to put together a second one for you and bring them both back." He made sure to emphasize that he was personally taking care of all the food preparation and handling. He mentally reminded himself to be certain to bring two _sealed_ cans of soda as well, rather than an open bottle that was more easily tampered with.

 

Tony flashed him a blinding smile. "Yeah, that'd be great, thanks." He turned back to his project, immediately absorbed by a materials comparison. Bruce watched him sadly for a minute, mourning the lost trust and the fact that the only one truly suffering for it was Tony. At least the engineer still trusted Bruce; the others didn't have a clue what they were missing.

 

He turned and headed for the kitchen while Stark manically continued working.

 

-A-A-A-A-A-

 

"JARVIS, may I come in?" asked Steve anxiously. Bruce had been in Nevada for consultation with a group of scientists working with Gamma rays for the past five days, and no one had seen Stark since the other scientist had left. According to the tower's AI, the genius had been in his workshop the entire time. Rogers knew for a fact that the only sleeping surface in Stark's lab was the lumpy, worn, green couch with its tattered blanket, and the only food available was takeout or junk food. A two or three day absence was normal behavior for the preoccupied industrialist, but five? Even when he sulked, Stark showed up for coffee by day three. When he hadn't, Steve went to check on him, only to be turned away by the AI each time.

 

It was two days later and he had been rebuffed by JARVIS five times so far, but one of Steve's key personality traits was his doggedness, so he was back for attempt number six. To his astonishment, JARVIS actually hesitated for a moment, then replied, "Certainly, Captain," and the door slid open.

 

Roger's eyes widened in surprise but, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he rapidly strode into the lab. He glanced around at over two dozen projects in various stages of development littered across almost every horizontal surface before he suddenly realized how dark and _quiet_ the room was.   No blaring rock music, no pounding hammer, no hissing welding torch… nothing. An involuntary shiver ran down his spine as the old simile 'silent as the grave' crossed his mind.    

 

"Tony? Are you here?," he called nervously as he peered through the muted light searching for any sign of his teammate. Finally giving it up for a lost cause, even with his serum-enhanced eyesight, he asked, "JARVIS, could you turn up the lights?"

 

"Certainly." The room brightened to near-normal, and Rogers' breath caught in his throat. Now he could see the limp arm protruding from under the worktable where the Iron Man boots were sitting partially disassembled.

 

"Tony!" He knelt beside the prone form and gently touched the engineer's shoulder, wincing at the heat radiating off the man. Small shivers ran through the unresponsive scientist and his threadbare concert t-shirt was soaked with sweat. "Tony, can you hear me?" Cap placed his fingers gently on the billionaire's carotid, noting that the pulse was fast and thready and he seemed to be panting shallowly with audible wheezing.

 

Tony's pale, grease-streaked forehead creased in confusion as he groaned, "Wha…?"

 

Steve gently maneuvered him onto his back. "Tony, I'm going to pull you out from under there. It can't be comfortable sleeping on the floor."

 

"Gwah…" Eyes still closed, Stark rolled his head shakily from side to side and tried again. "G'way….'m fine…" he mumbled.

 

"You're not. You're sick. From the looks of things, very sick." Cap's mouth formed a determined line as he continued, "Hold on." Before the scientist could object, Steve grasped him carefully under his shoulders and slid him out into the light.

 

The billionaire groaned at the radiance piercing his eyelids and awkwardly tried to throw up an arm to cover them. "Ugghh… bright," he complained. That being unsuccessful, he next attempted to turn over to shield his eyes but Rogers gently pushed him back flat.

 

"JARVIS? How long has Mr. Stark been ill?" Cap stared at the ceiling and hoped the computer wasn't programmed to hide that type of information.

 

"Could you please be more specific?" replied the AI, while Tony moaned and struggled weakly against the hand pinning him to the floor.

 

"Fever? Fast heart rate?"

 

"Mr. Stark's temperature rose above 101 F three days ago. The tachycardia began shortly thereafter. Other pertinent symptoms include cough, sore throat, dehydration and mild malnutrition."

 

Steve frowned. "Does he need a hospital, JARVIS?"

 

Tony's head rocked from side to side more violently. "No hosp'l. N' sick." Rogers ignored him. "Lemme up!", came the demand, a bit stronger, which he also ignored in order to hear JARVIS' reply.

 

"No, Captain. Mr. Stark appears to have a severe case of the flu. Bedrest and fluids should be sufficient."

 

Cap let out his breath in a relieved rush, then smiled slightly. "You heard him, Tony. Let's get you to your suite, then I'll make some soup."

 

The ailing billionaire managed to crack an eye open. It was glassy and unfocussed, but he directed a mistrustful glare in the general direction of the super soldier levering him to his feet. "St'p it. Lemme 'lone. J'vis?"

 

"It is in your best interest to go with the Captain, Sir."

 

"Traitor. Dun wanna," he pouted, both eyes now cracked open to halfmast.

 

Steve tried to lever him to standing but couldn't manage to keep pressure off Tony's broken foot, so he finally gave up and picked the other man up bodily over his increasingly agitated objections. "Come on. Up we go." The scientist became almost hysterical at this point, rocking his head from side to side and batting at Cap's chest feebly with one shaky hand. As they reached the elevator, he finally passed out completely.

 

 

TBC...


	4. Chapter 4

 

Tony felt the scratching at the back of his throat the day he'd wished Banner well on his trip and waved goodbye. He firmly told himself that he didn't have time for this nonsense, and could his body please just 'man up' and get with the program? Unfortunately, his body had other ideas. The lack of regular meals or sleep had beaten down his immune system to the point that when a virus finally struck, Stark was floored.

 

The scratchy throat rapidly became raw and it became difficult to swallow. The cough, fever, and runny nose soon followed. Tony stuck to smoothies and Tylenol while he hid in his workshop and did his best to cure the illness through sheer willpower. He was increasingly terrified of what the remaining Avengers might do in Bruce's absence to 'take care of' him. After all, if his team thought it perfectly all right to sedate him into unconsciousness just because of a few cracked bones in his foot and ribs, he dreaded to think what they might do to treat an _actual_ illness. Best to stay out of sight away and keep working. Besides, he had to finish his armor, didn't he?

 

At least he knew the contents of his mini-fridge were safe from tampering with Dummy on guard.

 

The hours bled into each other in a hazy fog as he bounced from project to project. Rogers started trying to get in after a day or two, but he kept instructing JARVIS to send him away. If Cap saw him like this, he might be overmedicated into an early grave.

 

Instead, he cared for himself like he always did, mostly by ignoring the illness and working through it. He caught catnaps on his dependable old couch, only managing an hour or so until he'd wake up because of a coughing fit that felt like he was about to lose a lung, or because he was sweating so heavily that he couldn't stand the heat of the worn leather upholstery touching his skin. His vision blurred as he became more and more dehydrated, despite trying to prevent it with a steady stream of smoothies and water. His throat felt like burning sandpaper had been rubbed over it, and sometimes even swallowing water took more willpower than he currently possessed. He tried to take Tylenol to control the fever and the more severe muscle aches, but it was only moderately successful. He was afraid to take anything stronger without Bruce available to rescue him if something happened.

 

The gray fog lurking at the edges of his vision for the past day suddenly roared to life as he straightened from bending over one of his Iron Man boots, swamping his consciousness and sending him plummeting into darkness. He awoke hours later curled up on the floor shivering with a knot on his skull the size of an egg where he had struck the edge of the counter on the way down. Accordingly, his head throbbed abominably, sending sparks of electricity through his brain whenever he opened his eyes. AC/DC pounded in his ears, adding a spike of lancing pain with each drumbeat.

 

"JARVIS," he croaked. "Lower the lights to twenty percent, would you? And kill the music."

 

"Yes, Sir." 'Back in Black' ceased mid-chorus, and the overheads dimmed to tolerable levels.

 

Tony cracked an eye and sighed. "Thanks, J." He eyed his couch, but it might have well have been a million miles away. He just didn't have the energy to pull himself over to it right now, so he was just going to rest on the floor for a bit until he got up the strength to do so.

 

Dummy appeared with a glass of water, which he set next to the billionaire's hand. He zoomed off again, to return moments later with the bottle of Tylenol, which he set next to the water. One last trip resulted in the ratty comforter Tony had kept since Rhodey had given it to him in college, which the robot awkwardly draped over the engineer's shoulders. Tony pulled it tight and smiled at his bot gratefully. "Thanks, Dummy," he rasped. "You guys are the best." He curled up again as much as his ribs would allow and lay and huddled beneath his blanket's meager warmth.

 

Next thing he knew, he was being shaken awake by a very human hand. His blanket was gone, probably tossed off during one of his sweating episodes, and he was shivering with cold once more.   "Wha…?" he tried as his brain refused to reboot.

 

He was carefully rolled onto his back by large, gentle hands, and a deep voice quietly murmured, "Tony, I'm going to pull you out from under there. It can't be comfortable sleeping on the floor."

 

The voice was soothing and the hands careful; Tony's half-asleep brain almost let him be lulled into a false sense of security, until he realized the identity of his visitor.

 

Rogers. The man who slipped him a drugged malted and then smiled and made small talk as he drank it. His brain snapped to awareness as adrenaline surged. Unfortunately, he was still exhausted and his movements and speech slowed.

 

No. He wasn't going anywhere. He was perfectly safe alone in his workshop with his bots, and he'd slept in worse places than his lab floor. Hell, he'd slept in a cave hooked up to a battery for three months. He'd be fine if Steve would just leave him alone. "Gwah…," he tried, but realized that it was unintelligible. He carefully shook his aching head and tried again. "G'way….'m fine…"

 

"You're not. You're sick. From the looks of things, very sick." The deep voice was now undeniably Rogers, and he was in Mother Hen Mode. That was bad. The billionaire thought he'd instructed JARVIS to keep the man out of the workshop? He shook his head again to try and clear it.

 

Cap was still talking. "Hold on," he ordered in his best 'Captain America' tone, clearly expecting to be obeyed. Tony's brow creased in pain and confusion as he tried to parse the words. Hold onto what? The table leg?

 

Before he knew what was happening, those large hands had grabbed him under the armpits and he found himself sliding out from under his workstation whether he wanted to or not. The overhead lights were blinding even through his closed eyelids so he tried to throw up an arm to shield them. "Ugghh… bright," he muttered. Unfortunately his coordination was still less than perfect and he just managed to hit his nose instead.

 

Fuck that, he'd just roll over. Except when he tried it, one of those gigantic hands pushed him back down, essentially forcing him flat. He felt a flutter of panic beat at his throat and he viciously squelched it, slowing his wheezing hyperventilation as best he could. He was not in a cave being held down by terrorists. He had not been kidnapped… again. This was a supposed _friend_ restraining him.

 

Thankfully, Cap never noticed his mild panic attack at being held down. Instead the man was looking at the ceiling and asking, "JARVIS? How long has Mr. Stark been ill?"

 

"Could you please be more specific?" came the prompt reply, and Tony moaned as he realized that JARVIS was complicit in his current predicament. Apparently his current physical state had triggered the 'threat to life' overrides on the AI's programming. It was his own fault, then. He'd have to tweak the code once he felt better.

 

Rogers sounded concerned rather than simply dominating. "Fever? Fast heart rate?" he continued.

 

"Mr. Stark's temperature rose above 101 F three days ago. The tachycardia began shortly thereafter. Other pertinent symptoms include cough, sore throat, dehydration and mild malnutrition." Tony wanted to object, deny his illness, but JARVIS was too pragmatic, damn him.

 

Tony could actually hear the frown in Cap's voice. "Does he need a hospital, JARVIS?"

 

Despite the fact that it felt like it was about to explode, the mechanic shook his head firmly in the negative and mumbled, "No hosp'l. N' sick." OK, that last bit was a lie, but seriously? Steve's hand was still pinning him firmly to the floor, and his heartbeat ratcheted up even further in mild panic. He _really_ didn't like being restrained.

 

"Lemme up!" he finally demanded, enunciating as clearly as possible with dry, cracked lips. The super soldier with the super strength just ignored his demand, attention focused on JARVIS to the exclusion of everything else.

 

Fortunately JARVIS agreed with him about the hospital, since the Steve had decided to ignore his demands, no matter how vehement. The computer responded dispassionately, "No, Captain. Mr. Stark appears to have a severe case of the flu. Bed rest and fluids should be sufficient, as it will likely run its course over the next few days."

 

Finally, _finally_ noticing that Tony was awake and some semblance of aware, Rogers addressed his next statement to the engineer. "You heard him, Tony. Let's get you to your suite, then I'll make some soup."

 

Stark cracked one eye open in order to try and emphasize the point that he was a grown-assed man and could care for himself. "St'p it. Lemme 'lone." He tried to enlist the support of his AI, since Cap seemed to be listening to him at least. "J'vis?"

 

"It is in your best interest to go with the Captain, Sir," the turncoat responded. Stark felt betrayed.

 

Tony said as much as he forcibly pried open both eyes and glared upwards. "Traitor. Dun wanna."

 

Once again Rogers completely ignored his god-given right to do stupid shit to himself and tried to wrestle him to his feet. He'd seemingly forgotten about the broken one though, and Tony hissed in pain as he was forced to put weight on it. Instead of realizing his mistake and leaving the engineer the fuck alone, Cap slipped one arm beneath his knees and a second behind his back and lifted.

 

"Come on. Up we go."

 

Tony suddenly found himself being held firmly against a huge muscled chest and carried bodily from his workshop, _his haven of safety_ , and he wasn't sure where they were going. While it might be his bedroom like Cap suggested, it might also be the couch in the common area where the entire team could 'keep an eye on him'. Panic set in for real this time, and he didn't bother to try and beat it back. Without Dummy, You, And Butterfingers to guard his food and water, without Bruce around to recognize that something was wrong and save him, he'd be at the mercy of these incompetents who thought nothing of inflicting their will on him 'for his own good', even if it ended up killing him. He slapped at Cap's chest clumsily in an attempt to force his release, then shook his aching head so hard in denial that the pain made him black out completely.

 

-A-A-A-A-A-

 

When he next woke he found to his relief that he was in his own bed and had apparently had a sponge bath while he was unconscious. Despite the fact that he was clean, cool, and in fresh pajama bottoms, he shuddered at the knowledge that his senseless body had been completely at Cap's mercy. Still, a blessedly chilled, damp cloth was draped over his eyes, and his bedroom was mercifully dark and quiet. He lay unmoving for a few minutes, feigning sleep and listening for any signs of the overprotective Captain. Given Rogers' personality, he was certain that the man was nearby, but hopefully he wasn't sitting in his bedroom. That would be too creepy for words.

 

Ultimately deciding that it was safe, he carefully cracked open one eye, and then the other. He then gingerly levered himself up on his elbows and looked around the room. Late afternoon sunlight crept in through the drawn blinds, illuminating the bedroom enough for a good examination.

 

Everything seemed to be in place, with no super soldiers in immediate evidence. The only addition appeared to be two capsules on his nightstand next to a full glass of water. Eyeing the liquid, the billionaire was suddenly aware of how thirsty he was. He wasn't sure when he'd last managed to drink anything Dummy had brought him, but he suspected that it had been some hours. He was so parched that he'd even risk the agony of his raw throat for some liquid. He glared at the nearby glass. Dehydrated or not, there was no way he was touching that. Who knew what his team leader might have dosed it with?

 

Ignoring the items on his nightstand, he looked around for his crutches. Fortunately Rogers, in his infinite wisdom of 'how best to care for Tony', had decided that Stark still needed them and had brought them up from the lab, placing them within easy reach of the bed. The engineer grabbed them and hobbled to the bathroom, where he turned on the cold tap and cupped his hands beneath it, drinking as much as his throat would allow. He then looked into the mirror, running a hand through his hair to smooth it before addressing his AI.

 

"JARVIS?" His voice was still hoarse, but at least it was more intelligible.

 

"Yes, Sir?"

 

"How long have I been asleep?"

 

"In your room, almost a full day," came the prompt reply.

 

"Has anyone opened my medicine cabinet during that time?" he growled suspiciously.

 

"No, Sir. The pills on your nightstand were brought by Captain Rogers from the bottle of Tylenol in your lab."

 

Tony nodded, not wanting to stress his voice. Opening the mirror above the sink, he dug out two Tylenol that he was certain were safe, as well as a Claritin D. Cupping more water in his hands, he downed all three tablets, then followed them with more water. He brushed his teeth for good measure, feeling fresher immediately, and then managed to choke down even more water. He had just collected his crutches and was moving back towards his bed when there was a pleased exclamation from the area of the doorway.

 

"Tony! You're up. Are you feeling any better?" Steve was carrying a tray with a bowl of broth and a glass of juice on it. Tony suspected that the man had instructed JARVIS to alert him the minute the engineer awoke.

 

"Yes, actually," he croaked, forcing a small, reassuring smile. "Just heading back to bed."

 

Steve set his tray on the nightstand, frowning at the untouched glass of water which he moved to the tray as well, then turned. "Do you need any help?," he offered, hand extended.

 

"Nah, I'm fine." The billionaire waved him off and continued his direct limping course, internally quivering at the memory of his involuntary extrication from his lab and not really wanting to put himself in his weakened state within reach of that superhuman strength.

 

Steve eyed his progress dubiously, but refrained from moving closer. Instead, he pointed to the tray. "I brought you some chicken soup and orange juice. JARVIS said you should try fluids before you go to anything heavier. There are a few saltines there though, if you want them."

 

Tony wrinkled his nose, then managed an exaggerated yawn. "Thanks. Just leave them there and I'll get to them later. Right now I feel like I could sleep for a month!" He leaned the crutches against the headboard as he sat on the side of the bed and folded down his covers with overstated care.

 

Steve looked even more concerned. "Are you sure? The soup will get cold…," he tried.

 

Tony shrugged with studied nonchalance. "Then I'll just call it gazpacho," he replied. Levering his legs onto the bed, he pulled up the bedspread and relaxed onto his pillow with a sigh. He let his eyes slide closed and forced his face to go slack as if falling asleep.

 

He could _feel_ Steve watching him and strained to make his breathing slow and deep. He was still so worn out that after a moment he found himself truly nodding off.

 

 

 

He woke several hours later actually feeling refreshed. After all the water he'd managed earlier, his bladder was making its presence known in no uncertain terms. The industrialist took a deep breath, encouraged that his throat really did feel better and that breathing no longer hurt, and opened his eyes.

 

It was fully dark outside now, but JARVIS had low ambient lighting set so that he could see beyond the glow of his arc reactor. He grabbed his crutches to make his way to the bathroom when he remembered the tray on his bedside table. Grimacing, he decided he might as well take care of that at the same time.

 

Carefully balancing the tray as he limped to the restroom reinforced how much steadier he was feeling. He set it on the counter as he relieved himself, then proceeded to dump the broth, the juice, and the water down the sink. The crackers were the type sealed in cellophane and were probably safe, so he pocketed them to nibble on later when his throat could tolerate it.

 

Cupping his hands, he drank deeply from the sink again, took two more Tylenol from the cabinet, then carried the tray with its empty dishes back to his bed. His flagging energy was almost depleted, so his attention was completely focused on making it back without dropping anything. Setting the tray back where it had been with a relieved sigh, he managed to crawl once more between the sheets and was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

 

He was so exhausted that he didn't notice the motionless super soldier standing in the shadows by the door with a fresh cup of juice, watching his every move with wide, stunned eyes.

 

 

 

Steve waited until he was certain that Tony was soundly asleep before carefully inching out of the room. He moved with surprising stealth for a man his size, leaving the billionaire's apartment without a sound. From there he took the elevator to his own room where he could question the tower's computer in privacy.

 

He had no sooner closed his door before he was addressing the AI. "JARVIS, I just saw Mr. Stark pour the food and drink I brought him earlier down the sink. Do you know why?"

 

"No, Captain, not with certainty." Technically true; while the computer had his suspicions, Tony had never actually _stated_ his rationale for no longer consuming anything provided by the Avengers, so JARVIS couldn't actually _know_ why he did it.

 

Rogers narrowed his eyes and reworded his question. "What is the most _likely_ reason for Mr. Stark to dispose of his food?"

 

JARVIS couldn't find wiggle room in that question, so he answered as succinctly as possible. "It is most likely that he does not trust it."

 

"How long has he been discarding untouched food?" Rogers then asked, carefully phrasing his question to exclude throwing out leftovers from partially-eaten meals.

 

The AI again kept his reply brief: "Fifteen days."

 

Captain Rogers visibly paled, then slumped to his living room to collapse heavily on the couch. He guiltily remembered the accidental overdose of two weeks previous, but gathered his resolve for another question. "Ummm… has he been fasting all this time?"

 

"No, sir," JARVIS answered tersely. Then, giving the computer equivalent of a sigh, he postulated, "You are not going to stop this line of questioning until you have all the details, are you?"

 

Steve's mouth quirked up in a wry grin even as his stomach did unhappy somersaults. "No, I can keep at this all night."

 

"I was afraid of that." Disconcertingly, the computer appeared to come to a decision and elaborated, "In the name of efficiency and the hopes of ending this painful interrogation, I will share my theories concerning the reasons behind this behavior if you desire. One condition: you ask no questions until I am finished, and respect my right to decline to answer them if I feel that the answers might not be in Mr. Stark's best interest, agreed?"

 

At an affirmative nod from Steve, he continued. "Mr. Stark has been repeatedly betrayed by those closest to him, and therefore has good reason to be wary of others. Most notable in this vein were three murder attempts by his mentor, CFO, and surrogate father, Obadiah Stane, purportedly for the good of Stark Industries."

 

As Rogers' eyes widened and he opened his mouth to ask for details, JARVIS snapped, "No questions." Steve's jaw clicked shut and the AI continued, "Despite his prior experience, he considered the Avengers family and trusted you to an unprecedented degree for new acquaintances. Then four of you took it upon yourselves to drug his food and drink 'for his own good', almost killing him in the process. Since awakening from the resultant coma," the computer continued ruthlessly despite Steve's involuntary flinch, "he has understandably only consumed food that was sealed, brought in from outside sources, prepared by Dr Banner, or that he personally observed one of you eat first. In short, he no longer trusts individuals who betray his confidence."

 

Propping his elbows on his knees, Steve leaned forward and dropped his face into shaking hands. So they hadn't been forgiven after all. Their actions had seemed so reasonable at the time; it was for his own good, after all. How had they managed to mess up so badly?

 

After a moment to compose himself, he looked up and addressed the ceiling. "So… how do we fix it? He needs to trust us in the field…"

 

"Unless you try to force victuals on him during battle, that should not be an issue," the computer answered haughtily. "For your other question… I do not know. Perhaps you should ask Mr. Stark. In the meantime, I would suggest that you stop bringing him consumables, as they will undoubtedly be discarded."

 

Steve sighed, nodded, then stood to make himself a cup of tea. He certainly wasn't going to sleep any more tonight. Remembering his manners, he murmured, "Thank you, JARVIS".

 

"Certainly, Captain."

 

 

 

-A-A-A-A-A-

 

 

When Tony next woke, he felt even better than before. JARVIS had been right about the flu running its course over the next few days. The morning light peeked in through the blinds, lighting the room with a soft glow that brightened his spirits as well, particularly after he looked around and noticed a conspicuous absence of super soldiers.

 

"JARVIS, where is Captain Rogers?" he asked to be certain.

 

"In his own kitchen, Sir," came the prompt reply.

 

He paused to take a quick mental inventory. His sore throat was almost gone, he didn't feel feverish, and the muscle aches had lessened considerably. His stomach growled and he realized that for the first time in a week he was actually hungry. Maneuvering himself on crutches first to the bathroom and then to his private kitchen, he was pleased to find that he wasn't completely wrung out by the time he got there.

 

Humming contentedly, he hobbled to the cabinet and grabbed a can of soup. He didn't typically keep perishables in his private suite as he rarely ate there, but he had an extensive selection of canned, frozen, and instant meals. Emptying the tomato soup into a bowl, he stuck it in the microwave and fished the crackers out of his pocket. Next he drew a glass of water from the sink and placed it on the kitchen island. Once the microwave dinged, he set the soup and crackers there as well and eased himself onto one of the stools, carefully setting his crutches aside. He could hardly wait to get out of that cast next week.

 

He took a spoonful of the thick, red liquid and groaned in appreciation. It tasted incredible. Damn, he was hungry! After a few more sips, he peeled open the saltines and crumbled them into the bowl. He practically inhaled the result, scraping the bowl clean with his spoon. He drank about half the glass of water and was getting ready to carry his dishes to the sink when JARVIS interrupted his thoughts.

 

"Sir, Captain Rogers is now at the door requesting entry."

 

Huh. Rogers was knocking instead of just walking in like he owned the place? That was a pleasant surprise.

 

"Let him in, J," he responded tersely, eyes narrowed.

 

He continued awkwardly to the counter, set down his bowl and glass, then turned around just as the soldier entered the room.

 

"There you are!," Steve exclaimed pleasantly, scrutinizing his face. "Feeling better?"

 

The billionaire forced a smile and hobbled back to the chair, sitting down cautiously. "Yes, actually, thanks." When Steve just stood there, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, Tony tilted his head quizzically and asked, "Is there something I can help you with, Cap?"

 

Steve settled gingerly onto the edge of another kitchen stool. "No. I just came by to see how you were doing or if you needed anything."

 

Stark smiled his media smile again to mask his confusion. "No, I'm good. I've got plenty of food here, and can get delivery if I need it. Thanks, though."

 

Rogers clasped his hands together in his lap, staring at them for a moment before deliberately looking up to meet Tony's eyes with a pleading gaze.

 

"I _am_ sorry, you know," he whispered.

 

Suddenly it was all too much. The engineer felt a wash of fury as the repressed anger of the past two weeks swept over him, and his face contorted into an involuntary sneer. If he was going to get Cap's 'puppy eyes' no matter what he did, Steve might as well know how Tony truly felt.

 

"What about precisely, Captain?" he snapped. "Your belief that, despite running one of the most profitable Fortune 500 companies in world and being completely responsible for myself for almost three decades, I was mentally incapable of acting in my own best interests? Your decision to medicate my drink without my knowledge like I was some college coed at a sleazy bar being slipped a date-rape drug? Man-handling me against my expressed wishes first _in_ my workshop, then _from_ my workshop, to transport me to an undisclosed destination? Believing that I am _stupid_ enough to consume anything you provided after admitting to drugging the same food before?" His scorn deepened and he snorted derisively. "For what, _exactly_ , are you sorry?"

 

Steve's eyes had widened in shock throughout the tirade, and his mouth fell open to a little 'O'. He blinked a moment, stunned, before finding his voice and stammering, "I…I'm sorry…" Then in self-justification he growled, "I was worried about you! First you were working yourself into exhaustion and not taking the pain meds for your broken foot and ribs, then you were so worn down that you caught the flu and were sleeping on the floor!" He was shouting unapologetically by the end of his rant, throwing his arms to the side in emphasis.

 

Tony glared right back at him as his voice lowered dangerously. "You were so concerned about me that you took it upon yourself to treat me _against my expressed desires_ , without even discussing it! I am not a four year old child, and you are not my mother. If you had taken me to a hospital like you considered, they couldn't have given me so much as an aspirin or untied my shoelaces without my consent as long as I was conscious and could answer their questions, _whether or not my speech was slurred_. Both legally and morally I would have needed to be _unable_ to give informed consent before they could have treated me without my permission. In case it was different in the forties, that translates to unconscious or legally declared mentally incompetent." He took a deep breath as he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "That's why I'm not upset with Bruce. We talked about taking the Percocet and came to an understanding to which we both adhered. Later, when he gave me Narcan for the overdose, I was unconscious and unable to discuss the proposed treatment. I would have agreed, but as I was unable to say so he had to make his best guess as to my wishes."

 

"So even if the decisions you make are harming your health…" Cap pondered, brows creased in thought.

 

"I am still an adult and they are still my decisions to make. I may have reasons for my choices that I don't share, but I still recognize that the choices are not always in my own personal best interest." His voice softened. "Just because you don't know the motivation behind my behavior doesn't make it wrong. Flying the WSC nuke into the wormhole was certainly not conducive to my health, yet I had good reasons to do it anyway. It's just that they were obvious to you at the time, so you didn't object." He sighed, all the fight suddenly draining from him. "Look, I know you meant well, both when you slipped the Percocet in my shake and when you dragged me kicking and screaming to my room to recover from the flu. But you must see how that might raise some trust issues?"

 

"But I'll never do it again!," Steve assured him.

 

The billionaire shook his head gently. "You can't promise that, Cap. Even if you could, I couldn't believe you. I'm a scientist. I work with repeated trials that obtain similar results. I'll need frequent demonstrations that it's safe to be around you when physically compromised before my mind will begin to accept it. If you can manage that, then we _may_ eventually get back to where we were before. But that means that if I refuse to do something that you think is in my best interests, you leave it alone. You don't go behind my back, and you don't force me physically. Understand?"

 

"But I was sure you'd recover faster from the flu if you got some decent sleep in a bed!" Steve objected.

 

"And you were right… about that. You were _not_ right to carry me out of my sanctum sanctorum screaming, thrashing, and telling you 'no'!" Tony pinched the bridge of his nose; he was still too sick for this conversation.

 

"You can't expect me not to say anything when I see you hurting yourself," Steve muttered mulishly, crossing his arms across his chest, looking for all the world like a petulant little boy.

 

 _'Damn, he's young,'_ thought the industrialist suddenly, staring at the other man. ' _Sometimes I forget how young.'_   

 

Aloud, Tony answered gently, "No, I can't expect you not to say anything, and I wouldn't want you to stay silent if I'm doing something you think is stupid. Please talk to me about it. Hell, scream, shout, and rage at me about it! Try to get me to see your point of view until Ragnarok." And wasn't that a strange turn of phrase he'd developed since he'd met Thor. "But," he held up an index finger. "If I still say 'no', and the only person potentially harmed is me, you are limited to _words_. No picking me up and carrying me to parts unknown, no drugging my food, no strapping me down in dubious medical facilities for experimental procedures." He forced back the shadow of nightmare bone saws in an Afghani cave, swallowed forcibly, and continued. "Do you understand now?," he asked, sagging in his chair, suddenly tired beyond belief.

 

Rogers nodded slowly, staring consideringly at his still-sick teammate. "I think so. And I'll try. Just remind me if I'm overstepping again, all right?" At Tony's nod, he added tentatively, "Is it OK if I ask if you need help getting back to bed?"

 

The engineer quirked the corner of his mouth into a wry smile. "Yeah, questions are fine. And I think that would be a good idea, thanks."

 

"You're welcome."

 

Steve stood, carefully looped an arm around Tony's waist, and helped him hobble back to bed. Placing the crutches where Tony could easily reach them, he turned to leave with a soft "Sleep well".

 

Tony mumbled back a vague "g'night" as his aching muscles relaxed into the soft mattress.

 

He was so close to sleep that he might have imagined the quiet, "Thank you for giving me another chance. I'll try not to mess up." He didn't think he did, though. For now, it was enough. It would be a long time before Tony trusted the team completely, but this? This was a start.

 

The End


End file.
